Be Careful What You Wish For
by S. Faith
Summary: The spoils of Tom's victory, as it were, when he collects on a bet. Spurred by a previous story of mine, "The Scandal". Rooted in movie universe.


**Be Careful What You Wish For**

By S. Faith, © 2008

Words: 1,827

Rating: M / R

Summary: The spoils of Tom's victory, as it were.

Disclaimer: Holy cow, so not mine.

Notes: This is a tiny bit self-referential, so if you haven't read "The Scandal", some of this story might not make sense. Without giving too much away, Bridget and Tom make a wager. If Jude is not able to find bank fraud, Tom will 'voluntarily have sex with a woman'; if Jude does find bank fraud, says Bridget, '…sex with Mark is out of the question. … But I'll endeavour to get him into swimming trunks this summer just for you.' Et voila. (Really, I just wanted to put Mark into a scenario where he's in swim trunks.)

If the thought of a man finding another man attractive weirds you out, please do not continue reading.

* * *

Bless her soul, she'd been true to her word, and he could barely contain his excitement.

It had taken some planning to arrange as well as a little arm-twisting, but the summer pool party / birthday bash for Bridget's friend (and Mark's law partner's wife) Magda's birthday was underway. It was far more laid back than he had anticipated—more in line with the Smug Marrieds than the Urban Family—but it would all be worth it for The Expected Moment.

When Mark finally appeared, he looked somewhat hesitant and a little embarrassed. Tom's first thought was that he had no reason at all to feel that way, that he was by no means disappointed; the expanse of bare chest did catch him him off guard, even though he knew rationally that Mark had a body beneath those tailored outfits.

Mark was a little browner than Tom supposed he would be, considering he spent most of his days in an office or a courtroom. Tom supposed it could be fake, but he was pretty good at spotting a fake tan, and this looked completely natural. Mark's shoulders were broad, his pecs well-defined, his stomach firm. Mark was no body builder but it was clear to Tom that Mark visited a gym fairly regularly.

Tom's eyes drifted downward.

There, in all its glory, was the swimsuit. While Tom would have preferred the lovely, almost gift-like packaging of a Speedo, he had no complaints about the suit that had been chosen: form-fitting but not too snug, flatteringly covering his hips, front and thighs, and accentuating every curve, every chiselled line. Tom was especially appreciative of the rear view, as it were. Lovely and firm.

Mindful suddenly of the company he was keeping, and of exactly whose body his eyes were focused upon, Tom looked away so not to seem too lecherous, but found his gaze drawn back to Mark and his little black swim trunks as the man threaded through the crowd with an easy smile on his face, clearly in search of his fiancé.

While not full-on tent-in-trousers teen school nightmare scenario, Tom found he was not immediately inclined to rise from his beach lounger. Bloody involuntary reaction.

He sat in the reclining chair thinking of women's two-piece outfits in mixed pastels on zaftig women in order to quell his thoughts when a pair of feminine legs appeared in the periphery of his vision. _Fabulous_, he thought fleetingly. _The better to drive out—_

He looked up. It was Bridget. She was wearing the most irritatingly smug smile on her face he'd ever seen. "Hello Tom," she said innocently.

"Bridget!" he said with his usual brightness, hoping to divert her from her inevitable brag at getting Mark into a swimsuit. "You're looking so _thin_!"

Her smile did not change. "That only works to distract me over the phone, Tom," she said, taking a seat next to him. "Have you seen Mark yet?"

"As a matter or fact, yes," he said, trying not to betray too much in the tone of his voice.

"And…?" she asked.

"You can consider our bet settled."

Her smile transformed into a silly grin. In a low, confidential tone, she asked, "This is all that _you_, a man who has practically written a treatise on the penises of the nationalities of the world, have to say about my feat?"

He bristled slightly. "Would you prefer I wax rhapsodic over your boyfriend's… _assets_?"

"I've just never—Oh my God," she said, interrupting herself. She started to giggle, covering her mouth with her hand as her eyes darted downwards. He pulled his beach towel protectively over his lap. "It's true! Actions _do_ speak louder than words!"

Tom could not remember the last time he had blushed quite so thoroughly. It was just not part of his nature. When Bridget noticed the pink stain spreading—and it was not easily concealed as he himself was without a shirt and his towel was already occupied—she began to laugh even harder.

"Shut. Up," hissed Tom, narrowing his eyes at Bridget.

"What's going on here?"

It was Mark, his voice playful as he came around the back of Tom's chair to claim the other side of the two-seat chair Bridget was sitting on. Tom looked intently to his own bare feet. If he thought about what was happening too much he wouldn't be able to get up and circulate for the duration of the party.

"Nothing," Tom answered sullenly. Tom had never wished for laser beam eyes before that moment, but if he had them now…

"I've lost a bet with Tom," said Bridget, curling her lower lip out, "but I'm starting to think maybe he's wishing I'd won."

He thought maybe she was right, even though it might have meant Mark might have been sitting in prison instead of here, at the party, sporting a tight little—

"Oh," said Mark noncommittally.

"Oooh!" squealed Bridget all of a sudden. "Jude and Shazzer are finally here! I'll be right back. Don't move a muscle." She darted off towards Sharon, who was wearing a ridiculously overlarge straw hat and Jackie O sunglasses.

That was when Mark said something that made Tom nearly pass out with mortification:

"Is this about the swimsuit?"

Speechless, Tom could only confirm with a nod.

"Ahhh," said Mark, leaning back in the seat.

After a silent eternity, Tom asked incredulously, "She told you about the bet, what it was?"

"Oh, heavens no," he said. "I still don't know, and frankly, I don't want to. But I overheard her talking about having lost it whilst on the phone with Jude or Sharon, probably, planning to take me shopping for summer apparel. I was horrified at first at the thought of parading around in, well, _this_—" He stopped, pointing subtly downward, which Tom really wished he hadn't done. "—but I realised that it was a ridiculous thing to be self-conscious about. And the fact that it was you who won the bet, well, that hardly threatens my masculinity." He chuckled, scrutinising Tom's reaction. "You look like you would have rather slept with a woman!"

_I'm starting to think I rather would have_, he thought.

"You're being a good sport about this," Tom said.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Well," admitted Mark, "it's not as if there wasn't anything in it for me."

_You have no idea_, Tom thought as he brought his brows together.

Mark then explained, "I played the part of the reluctant uptight stick in the mud, refusing to do it. In an effort to persuade me, she made some… promises to me."

Tom blinked.

"The usual round of promises," he added quickly. "Quitting smoking, starting going to the gym again, no more chocolate croissants. Those I'll believe when I see." Tom chuckled knowingly. "It's the others that have my interest, and those I choose not to discuss in polite society." To Tom's amazement Mark then grinned subtly. "Well, I'm going to get a drink and bring one to Bridget. Care to join me?"

Tom politely declined.

He eventually did regain his composure and made the social rounds. He ended up finding Jude and Shaz sitting somewhat miserably at a corner table nursing Bloody Marys. "Stupid Smug Married party," hissed Shaz. "Why did we agree to come again?"

Jude turned accusing eyes to Tom. "Because Tom has no control over his libido," she answered.

"Oh, admit it," said Tom. "You were curious to see what was under those three-piece suits, too."

Shaz flushed bright red, as did Jude, but the former said defensively, "I wanted to work on my tan."

Tom pointedly glanced up to the giant sunhat she was wearing. "Of course you did," he said condescendingly.

"I for one am going to have to have a stiff talk with Bridget if she thinks we're going to just go quietly into her almost-Smug-Married—" Shaz began then stopped as she actually saw Bridget approaching.

"You were saying…?" teased Jude.

"Nothing," she said through clenched teeth.

"Hi Shaz, Jude, Tom," Bridget said breathlessly, taking the fourth seat at the small table. She was wrapped in a towel and the bottom edge of her hair was wet. "I hope you're having a nice time."

"Fine, it's fine," said Jude in a weird, high-pitched tone. Her eyes had fixed on something beyond Bridget.

"I'm so glad," said Bridget, who seemed not to notice the odd tone. "Look, I know I barely got to see you all, but Mark and I are leaving."

"What?"

"I'm sorry we're not staying longer, really," she said. "But… well… I never thought Mark would actually wear the suit! So…" She smirked. "Well, I have to get home and find the bunny girl outfit."

Simultaneously Shaz's and Tom's brows rose up in silent query. Jude was still staring at something behind Bridget.

"Mark really likes it," she admitted quietly, "and I promised."

"Hi, Mark," said Jude in a disconnected voice. Tom realised Mark had been the thing behind Bridget, presumably as he approached their table.

"Hello, girls; hello, Tom," he said, flashing a pleasant smile at the group of them. Clearly he'd just had a dip in the pool. Mark was likely still in the bathing suit, though the towel fixed around his waist rendered it somewhat invisible. Mark's shoulders and chest were glistening with water, and his hair was dripping wet. "Saying your goodbyes, darling? Ready to go?"

She turned to beam a smile up at him. "Yes, absolutely." She stood and he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Bridget said, addressing her friends.

"Okay," Tom said, for a lack of anything more coherent to say.

After they left, heading for the house (in all likelihood to put their driving clothes back on), the atmosphere around the table was somewhat gloomy. "Who wants another drink?" Jude ask, her tone dark.

Two hands shot up, and Jude was off.

"Bloody Bridget and bloody Mark," grumbled Shaz.

Tom chose to revel in the vision of the towel and wet, tousled hair. "Mmm. You sound drunk. And jealous."

"I'm not," she snapped. She then added, "Well. Maybe just a bit. Drunk, I mean!"

Jude returned in short order with more Bloody Marys. They held up their drinks in a silent toast of sorts.

"He is nice to look at," said Tom at last.

They all sighed.

"Even though we really shouldn't think these things about Mark," said Jude guiltily. "It's like we're betraying the sisterhood."

There was a long silence.

"I think I liked it better when I thought he was a boring arse," admitted Shaz.

Jude snorted, then began laughing wholeheartedly, then smiled fuzzily. She was clearly pissed. "We should be happy for Bridge."

"We are," said Shaz gruffly, knocking her drink back. "Fucking ecstatic."

Tom sipped at his drink, his eyes not leaving the house. He wondered, really, how long it took two people to change into their clothes. And then he smirked.

_The end._


End file.
